


ghost boy

by drqco



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hallucinations, John is seeing Sherlock's ghost, M/M, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 16:24:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15174665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drqco/pseuds/drqco
Summary: there are ghost hands around my bodyin a bittersweet embracethis ghost boy is holding mebut my arms are cold and numb





	ghost boy

**Author's Note:**

> first johnlock fic !! so, i found this song while looking at some covers for a song i loved. i feel like this represents john's feelings immensely, and i wanted to write about john seeing sherlock's ghost after the reichenbach fall. anyway, ghost boy is an utterly beautiful song and i suggest you listen to it while reading the fic !! i hope you like it !! :')) 
> 
> title and summary taken from ghost boy by laureli. 
> 
> [ghost boy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rDkVGumNGSI) by laureli.

when he sees sherlock on the roof of st. bart's, he feels nothing. 

when he sees sherlock jump, he feels everything. 

he can't believe he's lost sherlock so quickly, a few seconds he was here, but now he's just a ghost. 

\---

the nights that follow haunts him, crawling up through the veins in his body and cracking through his skull. he can't bear sleeping in their flat, the remnants of him are too much. the skull, violin, his experiments crack him a little too much. molly lets him into her home with open arms, holding him tightly. he attempts to sleep on her couch most nights, other nights are spent on the roof of st. bart's. by the nineteenth night, (he's been counting) his ghost starts to appear. 

he was on the roof of st. bart's, right at the ledge where he jumped. the wind seemed to mock him, letting him sway back and forth like a pendulum. suddenly, he saw him right there next to him. sherlock with his curly hair and mysterious cheekbones and coat. he was sitting, legs dangling back and forth. so john, like an idiot, sat by him. his eyes filled with tears but disbelieving. he reached out to touch his hand, but again, he felt nothing. frantically he tried to look at his eyes, but they were gone. sherlock was gone. 

\---

ever since the nineteenth night, he barely goes up there anymore. he lays awake on molly's couch, blanket drawn up to his shoulders and dark circles under his eyes. sherlock's ghost comes often now, ever since the funeral. it's a contant reminder that he's dead, gone. 

there's never a moment where he gets to escape his ghost. during nights where dreams do come, sherlock haunts him there. sometimes bad ones, or good ones creep through his skull. the good ones tell him about what he could have had. sometimes, he'll prefer bad over good. 

finally, he succumbs to sleep. sherlock enters his dreams again, and suddenly, he's thrown back onto the roof of st. bart's with him. the two sit together in peace, the sound of the breeze like music to their ears. he feels hands wrap around him in a bittersweet embrace, _sorry's_ and _i love you's_ left unspoken. he wants to move, wants to hug sherlock back and say, "it's okay, everything's alright". but his arms are cold and numb. instead, the two sit like that. sherlock's arms around john and for a second, john believes that he's alive. he tries to believe it, but he knew he'd be lying to himself if he did. he wakes up peacefully the next morning for the first time in a while. 

\--- 

he gets the courage to enter their old flat the next week. mrs. hudson, poor mrs. hudson, welcomes him with hugs and crying and a nice warm cup of tea. "oh, john. how are you feeling?" she asks him, following him into his and sherlock's kitchen. nothing has changed but dust is everywhere. "i'm well, mrs. hudson," he lies through his teeth. he doesn't do it well, it doesn't take sherlock holmes to know if he's lying or not. "how are you?" he asks nonchalantly, a very weak attempt at small talk. "i'm fine, dear. i was so worried about you. i still am, honestly," she coos. there's obvious sadness in her eyes and in her words. it was quiet now, no more violin or the clinking of beakers. "well uh, i need to pick up a few things, mrs. hudson. thank you for the tea," he nods. instead of going upstairs to his room, he reluctantly enters sherlock's. 

he's been in here a few times, it was normal compared to the other rooms. no chemical beakers or experiments. he closes the door behind him, sighing to himself. he figured he should start packing his things soon, he's surprised mycroft hasn't sent for them. the bed was still made perfectly, and some clothes were folded upon it. it was a white dress shirt and the black pants sherlock always wore. he walked over to them, picking them up. 

"why are you in my room?" a deep voice calls from behind him. he jumps, startled. he drops the clothes, looking angrily at the voice's owner. "go away," he grits out, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "it's my room," sherlock shrugs, sitting on his bed. "are you okay, john?" he asks, concern in his voice. "what does it look like? of course i'm not! i'm seeing the ghost of my dead bestfriend and flatmate!" he shouts, throwing the clothes at him. "i'm seeing you," his voice breaks, eyes starting to water. he comes at him, fist colliding with a wall. of course he disappeared, he always does. his knuckles are red and his hands finds their way to his hair, pulling and pulling, trying to get every thought of sherlock out of his head. when mrs. hudson enters the room, he can't bear to look at her anymore. 

\---

the months that follow are whirlwinds. 

he moves out of baker street quickly. he couldn't stand it there anymore. mrs. hudson doesn't rent out there flat. when he moves, he saves one photo, it's him and sherlock outside their flat, all smiles. mrs. hudson wanted them to take a 'couple' picture when they moved in. he has a girlfriend now, she is amazing. beautiful blonde hair and eyes and caring. she understood john, john loved that. he moves into her flat six months later, they're perfect for each other. 

mary helps john at night with dreams, and she's a distraction from seeing sherlock. maybe john could forget about him now. but then january rolls around, bringing sherlock's birthday. the month brings up too many memories, he's thinking about sherlock too much. why can't he just get him out of his mind? thoughts of sherlock stick to him like gum underneath his tongue, he just can't get them out. on january sixth, he heads out for baker street for the first time in months. "i'm heading out for a little bit, mary," he smiles, kissing her on the cheek. "it's his birthday," mary whispers, placing a hand on john's cheek. "i need to clear my head. i'll see you later, i love you," he doesn't know if he actually means it. 

when he arrives at baker street, mrs. hudson is still there. her caring eyes and soft voice let him in, "how are you and mary, dear?" she asks. he replies with the same thing everytime, "good, good. very good." 

mrs. hudson leaves him alone, she's known him well enough to leave him by himself when he came. he enters their flat and there are some differences. the kitchen table was cleared, and it was cleaner. mrs. hudson must've swept through. he enters sherlock's room reluctantly, it doesn't smell like _him_ anymore. but of course, sherlock returns. 

"john," the same baritone voice calls out. john doesn't even turn around. "happy birthday," he scoffs, sitting on sherlock's bed. sherlock hums, feeling a dip in the bed next to him. sherlock sits next him, silent. "not that happy, isn't it?" sherlock chuckles. "no. not quite," john chuckles too, rubbing a hand on his face. they don't look at each other, john can't bear to look at the ghost again. "how are you and mary?" sherlock echoes mrs. hudson. he gets up and picks up his violin, playing in front of john. 

"i don't know if i love her." 

"why not?" 

"i don't know," he repeats. he's officially gone insane, he's talking about his love life with sherlock holmes' ghost. "she's everything someone could want. i just," he pauses, choosing his words carefully. "i'm not over someone," he shrugs. sherlock's violin stops, a look of uneasiness on his face. "mm," sherlock hums, thinking, before returning to his calm disposition and playing a sad tune. "it's you, y'know," john mumbles. maybe that is the truth, maybe it's why sherlock keeps haunting him. sherlock doesn't even bat an eye anymore, he keeps playing. john scoffs, of course. he tells his ghost this. he's in love with a dead person, it was very john-like. john can't take it anymore, he gets up all of the sudden, getting ready to leave. "i must go," he whispers, not looking him in the eye. "happy birthday, sherlock," he says, opening the door. "i'm a ghost, john. nothing more," he hears sherlock call behind him. and before john can turn and look at him one last time, sherlock is gone. 

\--- 

two years after the incident, sherlock returns. and it hurts too much. 

he and mary are close, but john's mind is distant sometimes. he can't seem to ground himself every other day. he still tries to convince himself that he loves mary, that he loves her as much as she loves him, but it's hard. he knows he'll love her truly and wholeheartedly one day. one day. 

he takes her out on a date, a ring in his pocket and anxious. the restaurant is beautiful (and not to mention, expensive), a perfect place for mary. then, a waiter with a french accent and mustache comes by. over and over again. and suddenly the man reveals himself, speaking in the familiar baritone voice he hears in his dreams. he looks up and complete shock, and he can't comprehend anything else. his ears drown out his speaking and everything else with white noise, he doesn't believe it. he's just another ghost, going to disappear the moment he touches him. "go away," he grits, hands clenching into fists. sherlock goes silent, jaw dropping a little. even mary is in shock. "stop haunting me," he repeats. not today, not today, not fucking today, he repeats in his head. "haunting you? john, what do you—" 

"shut up! shut the hell up!" john shouts, getting up. the whole restaurant is quiet now, all their eyes turned to them. "you're a ghost, a haullucination, a dream, you. are. not. real," john jabs a finger at him, not quite touching him. he can't touch him anymore, he knows he'll feel nothing. absolutely nothing. anger is bubbling up quickly inside of him, why do the ghosts appear now? right when he's about to propose to his fucking girlfriend. 

"john, love, i see him too. he's—"

"—not quite dead, right," sherlock cuts mary off, going back and forth on his feet. that sets john off. 

he launches himself at sherlock and when he lands on him, he can't believe he feels him. sherlock's real, he's alive, it wasn't his ghost. it takes mary and a few other waiters to get him off of him. but even then, he's still throwing punches, even though it's in mid-air. when he looks back at sherlock, there's hurt in his eyes, but he doesn't fight back. part of john knows that sherlock deserved it. 

\---

when mary takes him home that night, he can't even think straight. the anger and sadness and utter disbelief creep up into his head, and he can't make it stop anymore. the next days and nights are exactly that, anger that cannot be contained, so he results with punching multiple mirrors and walls, bruising his knuckles badly. he can not feel it. 

mary is the hero of the whole thing, rubbing john's back every once in a while and bringing tea and food to him. if it wasn't for mary, he'd be dead. or dehydrated. 

the days and nights of anger pass through, and all that's left in his head is 'sherlock, sherlock, sherlock'. sherlock hasn't made any contact with him yet, and that's good. if he did, john would probably do something he'd regret later. after three weeks of no contact whatsoever, mary can't take it. mary knows what john feels for sherlock. it's so obvious. but the world's best detective can't seem to figure it out. it's late at night when mary talks about it with him. "john, you should talk to sherlock," she tries, lying down a bit farther away from john on their bed. he scoffs, turning so his back faces mary. "ridiculous." a pause. 

"i know you love him," she states loudly, not even trying to beat around the bush. another pause from john, because he knows it's true. "i love you, mary," he says, shaking his head. "and i you," she bites her lip, "but you never truly got over him, john. even i could see that," she laughs, trying to lighten it up a little. she knows she's going to lose john tonight, and it'll be fine. she does love him, but that isn't enough, she knows that. "i know you love me. i also know that you love sherlock holmes more. that's fine with me, john," she sighs. john made her life better, he helped her forget her past. "mary, i can't—" 

"it's killing you, john. it's killing sherlock. it's even killing me, to see you two this way. i care for you, john. you're in love with sherlock holmes and i can't change that," she says sadly, getting john to look at her. john understands, because that's the truth. "how about you? i care for you too, mary," he tilts his head to the side. she smiles and scoffs. "don't worry about me john. i'll be fine. and to be honest, you're horrible at cooking. and cleaning up," she starts to laugh, her beautiful, sweet laugh that's silky to john's ears. her laughter spreads to john, and it's the two of them at three am laughing about how stupid he was (is). 

"now please, sort your shit out tomorrow or i'll do it for you," she smiles at him. "one last thing," she pleads, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "a cuddle before you go. you're good at that at least," she laughs. "of course, of course." 

\--- 

the next morning, john sets off for baker street. anger is still in him, but longing overrides that feeling. he remembers when he used to come here, always expecting ghosts and hallucinations. now, sherlock is real. 

he texted mycroft earlier, wanting to know where sherlock is.

[where is sherlock? - jw] not even five minutes later, he gets a response. [baker street. - mh] he can't help but ask one more thing. [did you know - jw] it takes a little while longer for mycroft to respond, but he does. [yes. - mh] 

soon he's in front of their old flat, crooked knocker and everything. he knocks, and straightens it. old habits, he thinks. once again, mrs. hudson opens the door, fresh tears in her eyes. "he's been wanting to see you for a while, john. he keeps playing the same violin tune, a bit sad i think," she sighs, giving him a hug and a pat on his back. he nods, stuffing his hands in his pockets and trying to find the courage to go up the stairs and see him there. the violin music floats into john's ears, it's beautiful. when he walks up, he sees sherlock at the window. in his signature robe and slippers. he stops playing his violin, putting it down and turning it around to face john. 

"i have a lot to explain, i know—" 

"will you ever shut up, sherlock?" john grits out through his teeth. for once in his life, sherlock does. "do you know how much i went through when you were gone?" he says. 

"i saw ghosts of you, everywhere. haunting me everywhere i went. i couldn't even escape you in sleep. it was killing me, sherlock!" he shouts, trying not to throw punches. sherlock looks down at his shoes, taking it. "one word, sherlock. only just one word for me to know that you're alive!" john cries. 

"i couldn't live here anymore. it was too much, the violin, skull, everything. but on your birhday, sherlock, i came here. i went into your room, and the ghost of you played the violin. i told you, the ghost you, that i fucking love you. that i couldn't get over a deadman! now you're here, and i don't know what to do anymore. even mary needs me to sort my shit out," he scoffs, wiping at his eyes. sherlock surges forward, robe trailing behind him. he takes john's hand and simply holds it. he was never good at things like this, but he knows he fucked up so much. he's been through so much during those two years, but that couldn't of prepared him for this. "i'm sorry," he whispers, hand shaking. that's when john loses it, he sobs openly, putting his head against sherlock's chest. he cries into his chest, resisting the urge to slam his fists against him. sherlock lets go of his hand to fully embrace him, he feels his soft fingers go through his hair. 

he feels his lips in his hair, repeating the words, "i'm sorry, i'm sorry," over and over again. they spend the next few minutes like this, crying and spoken "sorry's" echo throughout the room. sherlock pulls away for a second to kiss john on the lips, but quickly pulls away. "that lady with you, mary, was it? oh—" 

"it's alright. it's fine, kiss me again," john initiates the kiss this time, and it confirms to him that sherlock is real. definitely real. 


End file.
